


That Can’t Be

by HMSquared



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Author's Favorite, Bob thinks Bart is dead and freaks out, Crying, Episode: s29e09 Gone Boy, Escape, Gen, Injury, Missing Persons, Panic, Platonic Hugging, Protectiveness, Self-Discovery, Worry, not actually dead, that’s the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSquared/pseuds/HMSquared
Summary: Sideshow Bob hears of Bart’s death and refuses to believe it. 29.09
Relationships: Sideshow Bob & Bart Simpson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	That Can’t Be

**Author's Note:**

> I still can’t believe they actually gave Sideshow Bob a redemption arc. He reminds me of Loki in that he’s not a totally bad guy but still screwed up.
> 
> I think “Gone Boy” has become one of my favorite episodes. This is basically a love letter to Bob’s character, his redemption, and his relationship with Bart.
> 
> Enjoy!

They’d been searching for two hours. Two hours in the cold, looking for the oldest Simpson child.

Bob poked his head into the woods, looking for any sign of Bart. Turning up empty, he glanced back at the others. They were all so casual. None of them had skin in the game.

But he did. He, Bob Terwilliger, was actually slightly concerned about the whereabouts of Bart Simpson.

It all seemed so incredulous. Throwing aside a branch in annoyance, Bob skulked back up the hill.

He saw a police cruiser pull up away from the group. The warden walked out to greet it; biting his tongue, Bob followed. He positioned himself in the bushes as an officer climbed out.

“Did anyone find him?”

“No, he’s dead.” Bob’s heart leaped into his throat.

Before he could stop himself, he dashed off through the trees. No one heard him.

Bob didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing. He blundered through the woods, hitting branches and nearly tripping over rocks. He couldn’t think straight.

“Oh cruel Fate, why must you kill the things I want to kill?” he muttered under his breath. The wind whistles and Bob shivered. The jumpsuit suddenly wasn’t enough.

He didn’t even know what his goal was. Find Bart? Try to kill him again? At least prove he was dead?

That was the thing. Bob’s brain couldn’t process the idea that his nemesis was dead. Bart had to be alive so he could kill him. He couldn’t die from anything else.

He saw footprints in the snow. Small, evenly paced footprints. Bob slowed to a walk and followed them, excitement filling him. He couldn’t get too excited, though; the path could be leading him to Bart’s corpse.

There was a piece of red fabric on a tree branch. Bob stopped to examine it, unsure what to conclude. The footprints continued further into the woods.

He heard the sound of scraping metal. Clutching the fabric in his hand, Bob ran toward the noise.

Whether through blind hope or stupidity, he didn’t see the hatch. His feet slipped out from under him and he fell, tumbling into darkness. Bob hit the floor with a loud crack.

“Bob?” His name, so far away. “Bob!”

A small object the size of a foot hit his face. Bob startled awake with a yelp, panting. He was lying on the floor, his right arm out of its socket.

He sat up, adjusting to his surroundings. There was no one else around. Getting to his feet, Bob popped his arm back in and looked around.

There were metal shelves on every wall. Some had boxes of records, others various books. A bag of freeze-dried pears sat on a nearby table. There was a broken phone next to it and a book on electrical repair.

Bart. He was stupid, but not stupid enough to die. Bob dusted himself off and looked around.

“Bart? Are you in here?” For a moment, there was silence. Then a sneeze came from behind him.

“Damn dust particles.” Bart had wedged himself under the computer console, curled into a ball. He pushed himself out from under it and stood up.

There was an unreadable expression on Bob’s face. He looked...happy? Relieved was more accurate. Bart looked at him in confusion.

“What are you doing here, Sideshow Bob?”

“Bart.” He exhaled slowly, taking in the boy. A smile appeared on Bob’s face, a genuine smile. “You’re alive.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.” The smile widened.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you.” Bob stepped forward and picked Bart up by the collar. His smile turned to a devious one. “Now I can finally murder you myself!”

He carried Bart down the hallway toward the missile. There was a thin layer of snow from where Bob had been dragged. The Simpson boy squirmed.

“Bob, come on. Let me go!”

“Not until we get there,  _ Bart _ .” How fun it was to pronounce his name. They reached the missile a few seconds later, the door slamming shut behind them.

Bob lifted Bart up higher, intending to tie him on the rocket. But then another idea came to him. He could simply tie the boy up and slice his head off.

He didn’t get that far. Bart reared forward, biting Bob’s arm and causing him to scream. The convict let go and he scurried to the corner of the room.

“No, Bob. We’re not doing this again.”

“You always say that.” Bob shook his head with a laugh, but it faded. He frowned. “Why does this feel so familiar?”

“You’ve tried to kill me 11 times not counting today.” Bart looked him in the eye, annoyed. “Come on, Bob. Don’t tell me you still get a kick out of this, a genuine kick.”

“Of course I…” Bob trailed off. Why  _ was  _ he doing this? To actually kill Bart, or simply for the nostalgia? And why was he questioning himself?

Had he actually begun to care for the Simpson boy?

Bob’s knees buckled. He sank to the floor, mouth partly open. Bart winced.

“You okay, man?”

“Oh, Bart, what am I doing?” He shook his head. “How...how are we back in this position?” Bart cautiously stepped forward, waiting for him to snap out of it. But Bob didn’t move. In fact, he was on the verge of tears.

“Do you remember when Cecil tried to kill us?” He nodded. “You may be a scumbag, Bob, but you didn’t deserve to be locked up. Not for that.” Bart tilted his head to the side. “And I suspect you’re a man of habit.”

“It’s true, yes.” Bob looked at him and shook his head again. “Have I...actually come to care for you, Bart Simpson?”

“It would seem so.” The older man began to shake. Bart stepped forward and hugged him, holding Bob as he sobbed. He clung to the child like a toddler holding a stuffed animal.

After two minutes, the sobbing finally stopped. Bob wiped his face and looked Bart in the eye.

“Let’s go home, Bart.” The young boy nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> Side note, but this was really fun to write.


End file.
